Watered

Another great unfinished piece.  In my writing I use a internal sound track/rhythm when I write. This  little bit  is the code I used to indicate what pattern I am using, Four six two nine. Then the next line is a the idea I was aiming when I paused. A place holder so to speak, so when I came back I could just pick up and write on.

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Four six two nine

Sun burned and angry she retreated to the forest.  Finding no solace in the shade she sought out the deeper darker part.

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She was a beautiful tree. Small for her age, willowy...lean and with a crown of deep dark green leaves.

Held back and kept from growing.

A captive in a pot just outside the door.

Separated from the forest

And worse…

Watered

Everyday

…With poison

Her bark grew pale

Her years marked in irregular rings with in her trunk

jagged like scars,

blurred,

some years not there at all,

lost to the poison.

People have tried to take her

Plant her

She draws her roots up so tightly that the root ball causes her to tip over and she refuses to stay up right,

Until she is returned to the small

Confining pot

that holds her back, and allows her to

Be watered daily…

…With poison

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This is a story about a girl who is drinking daily. Some one I know. Someone waaaay too young to be an alcoholic.

Unfinished. Fuck this post menopausal writers dementia. It's maddening.

Apple blossoms

This is a letter I wrote to a new mother who was struggling with everything after  childbirth/postpartum stuff was not going as smoothly as she wanted.

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Apple blossoms.

That's what I imagined pregnancy/birth would be like as a little girl.
Beautiful, delicate, fragrant, dainty, light, oh so wonderful.

My body wanted a baby in the worst way. I felt cheated and robbed as the
years pasted and I was denied a baby of my own.

34 years old and finally a man walks into my life that can reach all of me.
I've Advanced Materal Age (AMA) when I finally get to have a baby of my own.

first pregnancy was stressful and full of medical drama that threatened to
steal the joy of it. I loved every second though. I imagined delivery to be
a momentous event that would bond me forever with all the women of the
ages, a rite of passage, being initiated into a secret society...

They induced me 2 weeks early and forced my son to come out before he was
ready. He nearly died and spent 4 days in the NICC. The trauma of inducing
left my body a mess. The whole experience left me feeling cheated. Duped.
lied too. Where the hell was the apple blossoms?

I had a gorgeous son, and I was fighting sleep deprivation with a body that
need to heal and recover. I wanted to just lay in bed and stare at my son,
suck him in, memorize his face, shut out the world and stay there in that
moment forever.

but

there were dishes to do, hubby to tend to, things that had to be done at
work, life...life was still going on and cutting me no slack.

darn it

I wanted that dream. The image of the well rested mom with the sleeping
baby on her shoulder. Not the one I saw in the mirror: frazzled mom hair
not done, pukie baby on her shoulder.

I wanted the physical discomfort of labor/delivery to be gone. "Oh you
forget right away!" they tell new moms...I didn't. I felt like something
was wrong with me. What was I doing wrong that I was feeling this way?

Nothing. yet everyone was making me feel bad for not "bouncing back" and
going on like the energizer bunny. I wanted to shout: "LOOK, I WANTED  APPLE 
BLOSSUMS AND A WHOLE DAMN APPLE TREE FELL ON ME"

Take time. Take all the time you need to recover my dear. You are
recovering from pregnancy and major surgery, while raising a little one who
doesn't care how you feel she just wants a boob and she wants it now.

Don't feel bad for how you are feeling. Its okay to be feeling out of sync. ts okay.